by C. B. Martin
The only thing I did find was a lot of complete perverts. I don’t think I’ve ever been gawped at by so many dribbling old men. They all seemed to enjoying their drinking Stella-Artois as they followed me around the terminal with their eyes.
I started to feel like a circus act. I had over-the-top hair and over-the-top shoes. I was dressed like nobody else in the airport - and the amount of makeup I had on would rival that of any clown.
My head started to spin with the embarrassment of it all. I hated the light in places like this. Those fluorescent bulbs were always so cruel. And why are the floors so damn slippery? Surely not everyone has to wear hiking boots for a flight? It must have been a man that chose this stupid floor. I would love to get him to try and walk on it in heels while carrying a ton in a suitcase. The fact that I didn’t have a case was irrelevant. I had my brand new handbag with me, which was, in my opinion, the same weight as the average weekend case, if not heavier. I had everything with me too; hair irons, hairbrushes, perfume, phone, tissues, ‘protection’ (and lots of it), keys, nail varnish, nail varnish remover, purse, chewing gum, baby wipes, baby oil, spare knickers and two pairs of sunglasses; one Versace and one Bvlgari. Oh yes, and a bit more makeup.
For what seemed like ages, I traipsed round desperately trying to find somewhere to sit and try ever so subtly to kick off the killer heels, which were crippling me, but to no avail. The airport was now giving out sleeping bags to delayed passengers. What on earth was going on? It felt like the world was coming to an end.
It didn’t take a genius to work out it was going to be a long night, so I headed for the ladies. I just wanted to sit down on a toilet for a few minutes to rest my weary, throbbing feet. I was also now desperate to scratch my lady-garden. (Why, oh why didn't I listen to Jackie? I should never have had another Hollywood). When I got to the ladies I found there was a massive queue, with dozens of poor mums trying to calm their bored and screaming babies. Honestly, could this get any worse?
As I walked back into the concourse to seek out another loo, a group of drunken gobshites caught my eye and beckoned me over. I lowered my head trying to make out that I hadn’t seen them.
‘Oi sexy,’ they called, ‘yeah - you in the black fur coat! C’mon over and share our sleeping bag. There’s plenty of room for one more!’
The cheeky feckers, I thought, as I ignored them and carried on walking around in circles, hoping to find a seat. Suddenly, I spotted a family ready to leave their table. The trouble was, so had everyone else. There were many of us predators dotted around, poised and ready to pounce on the almost-free table. Everyone’s eyes - mine included - were darting around, assessing the competition for the great race to the table. As soon as the last family member raised their arse off their seat – that was it – the flag was down and we were off! The whole world and his screaming child made a dive for the seat, but, as I started to run, I felt my left hold-up coming loose and sliding down my leg.
‘SHITE!’ I yelped desperately, as I clapped a hand over the trailing end of the hold-up. A chair?… Or dignity? Feck dignity - I want to park my arse! A chair was just within my reach, but I would have to let go of my hold-up if I was to make a proper grab for it. So I reached out, releasing my hold-up. The chair was almost mine. I was so close. At the last moment I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. Without looking up, I gave them a shove and told them to ‘feck off.’ Then, looking up, I realised what I had just done. The ‘someone’ I had just assaulted (after winning the chair of course) was a… priest. Shite.
Hardly surprisingly, he looked none-too happy with me.
‘Oh… Father - I’m so sorry,’ I said, mortified. ‘Please, take the seat.’
I stood back up, unable to look him in the eye, my face red with shame.
‘Ah bless you my child, sure it’s like a game of musical chairs, is it not?’ The portly priest said, nodding approvingly at my quick volte-face.
As I watched him sit down, on my hard earned chair, I felt my hold-up hit my ankle. The priest didn’t say a word as he slowly looked down at the offending object, but I can tell you now… the look on his face was of utter bemusement. The sight will stay with me for life.
I didn’t want a man of the cloth to see me trying to recover my hold-up from around my ankle. Surely I had suffered enough? I swiftly swung my big fur handbag off my shoulder and draped it nonchalantly in front of my leg, as I shamefully backed away with an uncomfortable smile.
‘No problem, Father, no problem.’
‘Hey, Nora Batty!’ shouted some clever dick behind me. ‘Do you need help pulling your tights up?’
The cheeky gobshite. ‘Tights indeed. They’re hold-ups! So there, you thick-arse!’ In a huff, I shuffled backwards; red-faced and trying to retrieve my hold-up that was still dangling around my ankle. ‘You wouldn't know your arse from your elbow!’ I cursed back, ready to punch something.
[Text from Travis]
Just been an announcement over the tannoy: Would the man meeting Tara Ryan please make himself known, we want to tell him he’s one lucky bastard! Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In an instant, a warm feeling flooded through me. I decided Travis was definitely worth the wait (and the embarrassment). To compound the good feeling, as I began to type a reply, I spied a nearby café opening its shutters. They had coffee! Thank God (sorry, Father).
[Text to Travis]
God, you have so said the right thing. You have made me smile. I will wait all night for you if I have to Xxxxx
The two-hour delay became a three-hour delay, but we were still told the flight would definitely be going ahead. At this point, Travis and I decided we had both waited so long that we might as well just sit it out for as long as it takes.
While I waited, I discreetly put my fingers into my coffee to add moisture to the top seam of my hold-ups. The last thing I needed was another hold-up collapse. My bum was so numb, but I didn't dare move off my chair in the recently-opened coffee shop. No, they were like gold dust. Indeed, I had just witnessed a guy asking someone to mind his chair. As soon as his back was turned, the chair-thief ran off with it. I wasn’t going to be fooled. Numb bum suits me fine. I just switched the pressure on my bum cheeks every ten minutes or so.
After an hour, I managed to shimmy the chair (albeit rather noisily) to the other side of the café to flick through an abandoned magazine. Ugh! They can look up with daggers all they like, the chairs mine, you losers. I even stood up at one point to tease them and just to show pure defiance, lifted the lightweight chair up with me. Then, after stretching out as though to leave, I pulled up the collars of my beautiful coat and flopped back down again. Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do to pass the time?
After what seemed like an eternity of mindless people-watching, my phone started to ring. It was Travis. They must be boarding at last.
‘Babe, I’m really sorry… The flight has just been cancelled.’
‘… Please tell me you’re joking?’ I begged, although I already knew he wasn’t.
‘Babe, I’m so sorry; I’m not joking.’
‘Oh… (long sigh)’ I replied, trying desperately to stop myself crying like a baby whilst still on the phone. My hissy fit could wait until later. ‘I see.’
‘Babe, I know you’re upset; I am too,’ he said. I held my breath as his soothing tones washed over me. ‘You get yourself home and text me when you’re back safe and sound.’
‘(Sigh)… okay,’ I grumbled, swallowing a large lump in my throat.
Staring into oblivion, I shut my phone. I felt numb and in shock. My feet felt glued to the ground. I couldn’t move. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience. The Big-Man upstairs had thrown me a double-whammy. First my hold-ups - and now this? All that pruning, all this bloody itching. That was it. I’m not itching myself through the pocket lining of my fur coat any more. I wrenched my fur coat back in temper and gave my lady-garden a much-needed scratch. I was almost orgasmic with relief. Everything was throbbing: my
head, my feet, my arse cheeks; everything was pulsating and for all the wrong shagging reasons!
Forcing myself to come back to the here-and-now, I began rummaging around in my bag. Eventually I found my car parking ticket under the pile of beauty products and headed to the kiosk to pay.
‘That’ll be eighty five pounds please, Madame,’ said the bored-looking man behind the Perspex.
‘Hang on… what do you mean, EIGHTY FIVE POUNDS?!’ I screamed incredulously. ‘I’ve just blown nearly five grand on a date that I didn’t even get to have because…’ I paused to draw breath, doing my utmost not to start bawling then and there,
‘Miss, there’s nothing I…’
‘DON’T interrupt me!’ I snapped, as I continued on my rant. ‘First, the fecking flight was cancelled and now you’re suggesting I pay £85 for the pleasure of waiting around for four hours to find that shit out?’
‘As I was just trying to say… there’s nothing I can do,’ he began, with the practiced patience of one who is used to being yelled at by furious customers. ‘You should have parked in the long stay car park, Miss; the Short Stay is just that… short stay. If you want to dispute it, I’ll give you the address where you can write to complain. But, if you wish to leave the premises with your vehicle today, you will have to pay first.’
With my feet now throbbing thanks to James and his bright ideas, I took off my shoes and threw them on the ground in protest. I felt so helpless; there was nothing I could do.
‘For feck’s sake.’ I shouted, reluctantly handing over my credit card and watching in mounting fury as he punched in the details.
‘…Your card has been declined, Miss. Do you wish to try again?’ said the car park man, showing me the card reader as evidence.
‘Oh, feck!’ I spat, through gritted teeth under my breath. ‘Right, just give it back. I will just give you all the cash I have in the whole damn world, shall I?’
‘Thank you, Madame,’ he said, his face completely impassive as he took the wad of notes I handed over.
I stropped off to the car park in my stockinged feet with the killer heels dangling from my fingers. And sure enough, the next crisis hit. Where is my car? I’m sure I parked on the third floor, didn’t I? Can you not be on my side? Just for once? Please? I mouthed up to the sky.
Maybe he heard me this time because, after walking a bit further on, I eventually spotted it tucked behind a big van. Both relieved and infuriated, I dashed over to the car and swung open the door. Ewww. I had stepped in a puddle. But by now, I really didn’t give a shit. I just jumped in the car and gunned the engine. After a long sigh, I put the heater on full blast to warm my frozen wet feet and headed for the car park exit.
Driving away from the airport, I noticed an overwhelming smell… Is that… I sniffed and sniffed until I discovered the source.
‘Oh… my… fecking God!’ I burst out loud, banging the steering wheel in protest. ‘I’ve fecking stepped in fecking PISS! Some grotty little wanker has pissed next to my car. MY CAR!’
At boiling point, I started to have a serious evaluation of my pathetic life. Shite. I’ve spent nearly five thousand pounds on a date and I’ve come away without a man, significantly poorer and with sore feet that smell of piss. Feckin’ great!
CHAPTER SEVEN
The following day I was like the Antichrist. I rang Laura and explained the nightmare episode, even though I knew there was nothing she could say that could make me feel any better. Sure enough, her I-told-you-so attitude instantly got on my nerves, so I ended the call quickly.
I hated Sundays, they were always so lonely, boring and way too long. The fact that I hadn’t heard from Travis since I had text him to say I was home safely, made me feel even worse. There was plenty to do, of course, apart from chain-smoking and shaking my phone, but I didn’t feel like doing the washing, ironing or any of that crap. I wanted Travis. God, I was so hungry for him. I felt miserable and unsettled. Why couldn’t he just text me? All that effort I went to, all that debt I’m now in and yet, nothing. The cheek of him. Who does he think he is? He’s Travis… that’s who he bloody is. A fecking gorgeous gobshite. Way-too-busy-Travis; clearly too important to pull his poxy finger out and text me!
Utterly dejected, I sat with my hands in a box of Rice Krispies, mechanically shoveling them into my mouth.
I shovelled another handful of Rice Krispies in my mouth and sighed so hard that most of them came flying back out, but I didn’t care. I had every right to be feeling this way. I wanted to feel sorry for myself - and that was that.
Then, I heard a familiar beep of a text coming through and instantly snapped out of my misery-fest. Spitting and choking out the remains of the cereal, I fumbled to pull my phone out of my dressing gown pocket.
[Text from Siobhan]
I have had the worst night of my life. R u home yet from your shag fest? x
…
[Text to Siobhan]
His flight was cancelled, I feel really down, what happened to you? X
…
[Text from Siobhan]
I don’t believe u!! I’ll b round in 5 mins 4 a cuppa xx
‘Are you okay, Siobhan? You look a little… disheveled,’ I said in a flat tone while I filled the kettle.
‘Am I feck! I spent the night in the cop shop!’
‘Jesus! What? Why?’
‘Well, I was minding me own business, driving to Luke’s and I needed some petrol,’ she began, speaking even more rapidly than usual in her distress. ‘So, there I was with a lit fag, when me mobile started ringing. Thing is, it was in my jeans pocket. I un-did me seat belt and answered me phone. I’ll be honest with you now, I did use me elbow just a little to steer me car as I pulled into the petrol station. So, there I was in deep conversation with me mammy and filling the tank - you know, it is hard to smoke, hold a phone and fill up at the same time. I coulda done with three hands so I could. Anyway, I kept the fag in me mouth, so I could hold the phone and fill up me car…’
‘Oh-my-god, you didn’t?!’ I gasped, my eyes widening in horror. I was so shocked by the story I momentarily forgot about my own life trauma.
‘I know, right,’ shrugged Siobhan, ignoring my reaction and ploughing on. ‘I was feckin’ proud of me multi-tasking, so I was. The next thing I knew, the gobshite fuzz was beside me. Well, he thought he was the fuzz when he tried to feckin’ arrest me. So I told him to feck off with himself, and told him, “you’re no policeman, you’re one of dowse community support officers”. Then he only went and rang the real fuzz!’
I winced. I knew there would be more.
‘So I got feckin’ fed up of this arse telling me he could arrest me, so I says to me mam, “I’ll have to let you go, but I will get back to you in a bit”. Then I put me phone in me pocket and threw me fag on the floor, cus I mean business now right.’
‘Siobhan…’ I gulped, cupping my face in horror.
‘Tell me about it. Some eejit pretending to be the police, someone had to sort him out. I decided I would do one of those citizens arrest thingies for impersonating the law. So there’s me, right, trying to shove this loser into the back of me car, when three feckin’ gorgeous policemen turn up. And what do they do? They feckin’ cuff me and put me in the van, that’s what they do. They only released me an hour ago! The feckers are taking me to court! I don’t even know what for. I don’t see their feckin’ problem,’ concluded Siobhan, shaking her head in genuine bewilderment.
‘I… I don’t really know what to say… apart from cigarettes and mobiles don’t go with petrol stations,’ I lectured.
‘I hope I don’t go to prison, but if I do, I hope by then I can go to one that’s mixed,’ she said. Then she grinned: ‘Imagine the wall-to-wall cock!’
‘Jesus… that’s not funny,’ I said, struggling to keep a straight face. But her crazy antics got the better of me once again and as usual, I started laughing.
‘So, what happened with you last night then?’ Siobhan asked, turning the tone.
‘Oh… I don’t want to go through it again,’ I said, waving away the question. ‘Let’s just say, the only part of me that got wet was my bloody foot.’
‘So… the drought continues for you,’ Siobhan remarked, shaking her head in wonder as she got up to leave. ‘Well, I’ll have to skip the tea because I’ve got to go and see a man about a dog. I’ll call you later to make sure you haven’t hung yourself from the curtain rail. Look on the bright side, at least you now have a fur coat I can borrow.’
After she’d gone, I realised my mood had lifted a little. It always did when I saw Siobhan. Actually I thought, God love him, Travis must just be so busy. He does have to organise a whole rugby team. Maybe I’m being a little too hard on him. I decided to send him another text.
[Text to Travis]
Hello gorgeous, I hope you’re ok? What will happen to your flight ticket? Surely they will refund you? Xx
After a few hours of not hearing from him, my thoughts started to shift again. My light mood darkened and I began to feel like I was about to lose the plot again.
[Text to James]
I’m sure you know about last night from Siobhan, but I haven’t heard from him since!! Do you think he’s had enough already? Xx
…
[Text from James]
Darling, I heard it all from Jayde this morning. Sweetie do u really think he would sit in an airport 4 hrs if he wasn’t mad about you? Xxx
…